


The Shadow's Reflection

by AuburnRed



Series: The Shadow series [2]
Category: Hamish MacBeth (TV), Last Enemy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cat and Mouse, Dictatorship, Drama, Espionage, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, M/M, Murder, Paranoia, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuburnRed/pseuds/AuburnRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Hide in Shadow." A dead body puts Hamish right in the middle of a brave new frightening world with new friends, old grudges, and deadly pursuits</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These Wounds, They Will Not Heal

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to my story “Hide in Shadow”. As previously, the world of Hamish Macbeth is a combination of the books and the TV series. (Characters and situations from both sources are referred to and Macbeth’s background is based upon both sources). Like before, I elaborated on some things particularly with the younger Macbeth siblings and the fact that this story is an Alternate Universe.  
> Oh and I should mention this has some HEAVY DUTY SPOILERS for the Last Enemy, whereas in the previous story they were tap danced around (with some theories of mine) Just thought I would let you all know.

I do not own these characters. The world of Hamish Macbeth and Lochbubh belong to M.C. Beaton and BBC Scotland. The world of the Last Enemy belongs to Peter Barry and the BBC, unless otherwise stated. (There are also characters referred to or shown that belong to other sources, they will be noted accordingly) This is not for profit, just for entertainment.  
-  
Chapter One: These Wounds, They Will Not Heal  


She stood below the hills, but she could hear the gun shot and see the man fall. She wanted to scream and cry out, but she was frozen rooted beside the wheel of her car. Call Hamish you idjit, her mind seemed to say, you are an eyewitness to a murder! She was about to obey that part of her mind ,start the car, and head straight for Lochdubh or at least pick up her mobile when she saw another sight that made her stop in her tracks, the shooter. He stood over his kill with an expression of satisfaction and was it triumph? She had recognized him and would have known his eyes, the shape of his face, the stoop of his shoulders anywhere. “No,” was all she could manage to whisper. She shut her eyes hoping that it was a bad dream. When she reopened them, the shooter had disappeared. She gathered her wits about her and started the car. She turned her car around on the road past Lochdubh getting away from that image of the man being killed and the shooter that she knew all too well. She knew one thing; she would never call Hamish again.  
Isobel Sutherland awoke once more feeling ill. She ran to the loo and gulped dry air. When the nausea had passed, Isobel turned on the water in the sink. She let the water run across her hands, then splashed it on her face. Her breath caught in short desperate gasps as she struggled to compose herself and shake the awful memory from her.  
When Isobel felt relaxed enough, she returned to her bedroom and glanced outside at the London skyline. She thought Edinburgh was large, it was nothing compared to this. The lights moved in an almost synchronous motion as though it were some code. From the distance, she could see the London Eye peering over the skyline as though it were a searchlight watching everyone and everything. Of course, she thought, it practically is these days. The alarm of emergency vehicles roared by her flat. Her reporter’s instincts wondered what the trouble was, but she didn’t have the energy to pursue the matter so she let it be. Isobel considered turning on the television, but the images wouldn’t block her mind. Besides being a reporter and blogger, she was constantly surrounded by news. She really could use the break from the world’s current events. Her current events took precedence in her mind.  


>

She spent much time going over the scene that drove her from Lochdubh late at night nearly three weeks ago. She had gone back for a visit, but seeing that awful sight, she knew that she could never return and pretend things were the way they were before. She could see the man staggering over, then falling over the hill and most of all the shooter, Hamish, her once-boyfriend looking down at his kill. It didn’t take a lot of investigative research to figure out that the dead man was Martin Brandell, a man who had been arrested and from what she understood just as quickly released for the murder of Hamish’s father. Brandell was reported a missing person and for all she knew he may now be food for the carrions or the bottom feeders. She could tell herself that Hamish acted out of revenge or perhaps self-defense. That in some way he was justified in committing the deed. But what she couldn’t forget was the look that he had, that hateful satisfaction. It was a look that she had never seen in him before and never wanted to see again.  
Isobel buried her head in her hands and rubbed at her hair. She couldn’t think on this anymore. She was in London for a job and she intended to do it. Isobel put her headphones on and flipped on the music on her I-Pod. Light New Age and classical music with nature sounds filled her troubled mind and blocked the noises from the city. She lay down and let the music fill her as she finally welcomed sleep.  


Hamish paced back and forth looking severe at the suspect. “Well,” he said. “Do you want to confess?” The suspect wouldn’t answer giving him a challenging look that said ‘try me.’ Hamish spoke again. “Because you see here is what I think. I think that you lost your temper and had a bit of a scuffle. Then when he took a swing at you, I think you seized the perfect opportunity. You decided to punch him into near unconsciousness; does that sound at all possible?”  
Hamish felt confident. He had plenty of experience interrogating suspects. He had seen it many times on television and movies. The right questions often sent suspects into tears of confession. Of course the suspects were rarely ever sullen 13 year old boys.  
“Can I go now?” Alec Macbeth, Hamish’s younger brother asked his headmistress, Esme Maury-Campbell. His voice showed less of a willingness to break down to spill everything and more of an embarrassed ‘I can’t believe my older brother is doing this to me’ tone.  
Esme nodded, but Hamish interrupted. “In a minute.” He replied. “Now see if you confess then it will go a lot easier on you in the long run.”  
Alec rolled his eyes. “Jimmy Plankton called Murrie a retard and so I slugged him on the lip.”  
“So why do you have a black eye,” Hamish asked.  
“I didn’t slug him fast enough,” Alec answered dryly.  
“And that gave you license to knock the boy practically senseless?” Hamish shot back. “Jimmy’s father rang me and said that they sent him to hospital. He’s going to need three stitches!”  
“Only three?” Alec said sounding disappointed. Hamish grabbed him by the arm very tightly.  
“This would be the perfect time for you to be quiet,” Hamish hissed.  
“But constable if I do that, I won’t be able to answer your questions,” Alec answered innocently. Despite his brother’s normally easy-going nature, it always amazed Alec how he could silence anyone with a look as he was doing right now. Alec shut up.  


“We’re suspending Alec for three days,” Esme replied.  
“Three days, what a coincidence,” Hamish said tartly. “That’s exactly how long you will be under restriction!”  
Alec groaned. “What? That is not fair!”  
“Want to make it four?” Hamish countered. “Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to have a word with Mrs. Campbell for a few minutes. Go on!” He ordered when Alec left the office.  
Hamish sighed wearily. “This isn’t the first time that this has come up about Murron,” Esme said. “Some of the other students had been teasing her about being in Primary 2 as well.”  
“I was afraid that she’d get that,” Hamish replied. “She’s gotten that her whole life.” His sister, the youngest child in the Macbeth family, was the product of a late-in-life pregnancy. She had developmental problems and the mentality of a 6-year-old.  
“If this were a larger school, I would recommend a specific education class for her,” Esme suggested. “The only alternative that I can think of is for her to go to a special school in Aberdeen but that would be too far away.”  
“Aye and expensive,” Hamish agreed. “We will just have to make do with what we have then. I’ll take them home.” He said leaving her office saying good-bye to his friend.  


Hamish pulled the Land Rover over in front of his house behind the police station. The two children ran inside after he unlocked the door. “I have to go back on my rounds. I will be back in time to start supper. Murron, sit right in the sitting room and mind Alec,” Hamish said gently then his voice became firm. “Alec, you keep an eye on her. No leaving the house, no phone calls, and no telly for the rest of the evening.”  
Alec gasped. “You can’t order me about like that!”  
“Och, I think I just did,” Hamish commanded. “Anderson will be in the police station so he will be able to tell if you disobey me!”  
Alec stormed upstairs but turned around. “I know what you’re trying to do and you can forget it! You’re not Dad and you’re never going to be!” He slammed the door behind him.  
“No because if I were Dad you would have felt the skin of me hand by now!” Hamish shot back. “Looks like, I’m the closest thing that you got to it now ain’t I?” He sank down onto a nearby chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Alec and Murron had been placed into his custody since the death of their parents -their father by murder and their mother from the aftereffects of a stroke and grief from losing her husband. Originally they had lived with his younger sister, Fionnulla and her husband Joe Campbell, but Fee and her family were now out of the country. Joe was serving in an operation that would take him out for five years. Since he didn’t want to be away from his family, Joe arranged to have the immediate family of his wife and two sons- Fee and three year old Joe Jr. and newborn, Angus-stay with him at a family base. While that was good for Fee, it was bad news for Hamish. He had originally volunteered to take in Fee and Alec temporarily to relieve Fee during her pregnancy. At least then she was on hand to provide assistance, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. Now Hamish had to raise the younger siblings by himself with only communicating with his other siblings via phone and email, and it was getting to be a stressful situation.  


Hamish scooted over to Murron. The little sandy-haired girl was oblivious as always playing with a doll and a teddy bear. Hamish’s dog, Jock, looked interested at the young girl playfully chewing on the doll’s hair. “Stop it, Jock,” Murron said. “That’s very naughty! Hamish, Jock won’t leave Annie alone!”  
Hamish smiled. “Jock,” he snapped his fingers as the Westie sidled away. Besides Hamish, Jock had developed a close bond with Murron as well. “Jock just wants to play with Annie.”  
“But Annie’s my dolly,” Murron protested sticking her mouth into a pout. Hamish grinned. It was hard to believe that she was 11-years-old. Most girls her age would have long given up dolls in favor of pre-teen idols and putting on makeup.  
“Well I’ll just have to get Jock a dolly of his own then,” Hamish replied. He stood up.  
“Hamish is Alec in trouble?” she asked. “He was only trying to help.”  
The constable sighed. “I know that, lassie. I’ll talk with him about it. In the meantime mind your brother,” he said. “I’ll be back later. We’ll have supper and we’ll go over your flash cards when I get back alright.”  
Murron sighed. “Alright, am I stupid? That mean boy said I was.”  
Hamish shook his head. “Well then he’s pretty stupid for thinking that isn’t he?” Murron frowned but her brother tickled her on the neck causing the little girl to laugh. “Everyone’s smart in their own ways, Murrie. In some ways you are one of the smartest people I know.” He kissed her forehead and rose to leave.  
“Hamish you’re not Dad,” Murron said almost in an afterthought. “You’re Hamish and that’s alright too.”  
“See what I mean, Murrie? Thanks,” Hamish said to his baby sister. He called upstairs. “Alec back in a few! Watch your sister.”  
“Fine,” Alec’s voice called from his bedroom. Hamish then left the house.  


After the stress of the day, Hamish decided that he needed a drink. He stopped by the Lochdubh Hotel. The regular patrons were all there including Esme. He ordered one beer from Agnes and Barney Meldrum at the bar.  
Lachlan MacRae Sr. and Jr. were discussing their latest business venture: big game fishing. “We are going to rent a big trawler and go down into the loch to catch some of them. We’ll make a fortune son!”  
“But Dad,” Lachie said. “Aren’t we going to have to pay to rent the boat?”  
Lachlan started as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Who’s the brains in our here proprietorship?”  
Hamish took a spot between his friends Doc Brown and The Campbells. “Are Alec and Murron alright?” Esme asked. “I hope that I wasn’t too hard on him.”  
Hamish shook his head. “No, they’ll be alright. Alec could use a few lumps on the head. He’ll get over it. In a way, he did the right thing. I might have done the same if someone had called Murron a name like that. But he has a temper that needs to be checked. I love my brother, but some days I just want to wring his neck.” He noted the look of amused grins from some of his friends. “What?”  


Lachlan turned from his son to the constable. He said “My time machine works!”  
Lachie Jr. was confused. “I didn’t know that you built a time machine, dad!”  
Lachlan sighed at his son’s incompetence. “I didn’t, Lachie,” he said as though he were a small child. “I was being facetious.”  
“Is it catching?” the young man asked.  
“Is what catching?” his father replied.  
“Being facetious,” Lachie whined. “I don’t want that! I could die young!”  
“Lachie, I love you but you’re a plonker,” his father shot back. “I meant that I was being ironic.” Before Lachie could ask another question, he spoke again. “I was making a humorous observation because Hamish sounded just like his late father, God rest his soul, when he used to complain about Ian!”  
“Oh,” Lachie replied.  
Agnes and Barney exchanged confused glances. “Who’s Ian?” Agnes asked.  
“My brother, “Hamish answered. The Meldrums didn’t look any more enlightened.  
“But we know all of your brothers and sisters,” Barney said. “You don’t have a brother named Ian.”  
“I had a brother named Ian,” Hamish replied shortly. “We were twins. I hadn’t seen him in awhile.”  
“I didn’t know that you were a twin, Hamish,” Vicki Sadler replied from the corner.  
“Well you learn something new every day,” Hamish answered. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” He left the bar.  
“What’s wrong with him?” Agnes asked.  
“They don’t like to talk about Ian, the Macbeths,” Doc replied.  
“Don’t blame them,” Lachlan sniffed. Some of the other locals agreed.  
“What was he like?” Vicki’s husband, Paul asked.  
“He was born to hang surely,” Lachlan replied. “Some bairns were born bad and he was one of them.”  
“He was wild as a sea rat and twice as restless,” Alice Robb said.  
“He used to always shoplift from my store,” Rory replied.  
“He was often sent down in school for various infractions,” Esme explained. “He had an awful temper that used to get him in fights. I think the only person who ever had the power to calm him down was Hamish himself.”  
“He was a bully,” Lachie replied with a shudder. “He used make me do stuff like bum fags for him. He buggered me senseless all the time.”  
“Finally an answer,” Lachlan dryly quipped.  
“What happened to him?” Barney asked. “And why is he such a big secret around here?”  
Esme shrugged. “No one really knew. When they, Hamish and Ian, were 16 Ian disappeared and no one had seen him since. Most people thought that he either ran away or slipped into the loch at night and drowned.”  
“There were also rumors at the time that the boy was a pansy,” Lachlan said gruffly. “Anyway, he was very close to one of them Traveler boys and most people thought they’d run off together.”  
“How awful for him to go missing like that,” Agnes said. Many of the newcomers who had never heard of Ian or this story nodded. “The poor family and they never found him or a trace of him?”  
“Just his blazer,” Rory replied. “But not a lad to go with it.”  
Esme nodded. “It was awful for Hamish. He and Ian were close. Twins are you know, they practically could read each other’s minds. After Ian left, it seemed like a part of Hamish died right along with him. His family moved to Glasgow shortly after that.”  
“I didn’t know that was the reason,” Barney said in surprise. “I knew they moved when he was a lad but I never knew why.”  
“I suppose that’s one of the reasons why Hamish has always been so closed off from others,” Doc said. “Also, why he’s so hard on Alec. Alec is practically Ian’s spit and image at that age. He doesn’t want him to end up like Ian, I suppose.”  


Hamish listened in on some of the conversation but couldn’t bear to hear the rest. He walked the streets of downtown Lochdubh for his afternoon patrol. He shook his head and lit a cigarette. Jock as always was by his side. Ian Macbeth, his brother, had long been a ghost in his mind, a shadow that he sometimes thought that he imagined. Only recently, that shadow once again reentered his life and not in a pleasant way that he always hoped that their reunion would be. The other residents could speculate all that they wanted to about Ian. Hamish wouldn’t tell, he was only trying to figure out the truth himself. The truth was much worse and more complicated than any of them would have ever imagined.  


The next day, Lachlan MacRae moved the rickety boat into the middle of the loch. Lachie was surprised that it was able to move at all. “Are you sure this thing will work, Dad?” Lachie asked. Since he had lived his entire life near the loch, Lachie wasn’t normally prone to seasickness. However, the realization that this wooden white contraption was practically termites on a cruise made his stomach churn up and down.  
“Come on, now Lachie,” his father encouraged. “We are standing on the threshold of greatness and this will be the chariot to take us there! It is a good bargain, my boy!”  
“How big a bargain,” MacRae Jr. muttered.  
“You have to spend money to make money,” his father answered. “Now drop the net and let’s see what comes up!”  
Lachie shrugged and wheeled the net loose. The wheel was rusted over , so Lachie had to kick and struggle at it to get it to loosen. He pushed the wheel forward. He heaved as the net sank into the water. When the net finally fell in the water, Lachie practically collapsed against the wheel. “ That’s fine Lachie,” Lachlan encouraged. They felt the net tug at the boat, less than five minutes later but to Lachie seemed like 10 seconds. “Alright, pull them up,” Lachlan said.  
Lachie sighed and then moved the wheel forward. The wheel squeaked as he moved it forward. The net wouldn’t budge. “Dad,” Lachie whined. “It won’t move!”  
“Put some muscle into it, boy,” Lachlan commanded. Lachie tried harder, but still it wouldn’t move. The older man grunted as he helped his son turn the wheel. The two pushed the net out of the water. To their delight, trout and other freshwater fish appeared in the net. “I told you we would be rich!” Lachlan cheered. The father and son hugged delighted.  
Lachie glanced at the net and stopped mid-leap for joy. “What’s that in the middle of the net there?”  
MacRae looked where his son pointed and headed to the net for a closer look. Something lay in the center as the sea life flopped around it. It was still and lay face-down. Lachlan’s eyes widened. “It’s a body!” He yelled.  
Lachie began to hyperventilate. He felt his lunch churning to his throat. “A body what are we going to do?” he asked terrified. “What are we going to do?”  
Lachlan slapped his son across the face. “Pull yourself together man,” he commanded. “Use your brain and do something useful!”  
Lachie nodded and turned to the stern. He pulled himself together, used his brain, and did the only useful thing that he could think of to do: Stuck his head out the window and vomited into the water below!  


Hamish parked his Land Rover behind the already gathering crowd. He gently pushed past the witnesses as the body was being towed out from the loch. “Coming through,” he said. “Police business, nothing to see here. Go on now.” He walked up to the portly man who called him earlier.  
“Ah, it’s yourself, Hamish,” Lachlan MacRae Sr. announced. “So glad you could join us.”  
“I had to drop Murron off at school,” Hamish replied. “And had to make sure Alec stayed out of trouble.” Like many kids his age, Alec did not get up early unless he really had to so Hamish let him sleep rather than deal with a quarrelsome teenager early in the morning. “So what about this lad?”  
Hamish walked closer. “We found him this morning,” Lachie Jr. said There was some disgust, but Hamish could also hear the excitement as though the younger man was thrilled about being in a mystery. “I bet it was a Mafia hit. You know sleeps with the fishies?”  
Hamish shook his head. “You watch too many movies, lad.” He examined the body. It was of a built man, mid-to-late thirties. Despite the refuse and sea life growing in his hair, Hamish could see that he had once been blond. He glanced closer. The face was bleeding, so he was unrecognizable to the physical viewer. But Hamish knew, he just knew who it was, the way a child would look at a pile of clothes in the dark and recognize a monster, the way a woman could walk across a crowded street and recognize her rapist. He knew who the man was, Martin Brandell: the man who killed numerous people including Hamish’s father. “I’ll have him brought to the station,” he said.  


Isobel stood in front of Parliament, her recorder in hand. She was staring at the blond woman who spoke, he Northern Irish lilt resounding in each word. “When TIA enters through all of the United Kingdom, only then will we consider ourselves truly safe,” she said. Several reporters shot their hands up. Eleanor Brooke, Government Minister, member of the Cabinet, and on the fast track to being the number two person in Whitehall under the Prime Minister scanned each reporter. She pointed directly at Isobel. “Now you Ms…”  
“Isobel Sutherland, Edinburgh Evening News,” she said making her voice loud and clear. “TIA hasn’t reached as far as some areas in the northern U.K., particularly in Scotland. In fact, there are many constituents up there who have expressed a lack of interest or acceptance in the issue, how do you intend to address that?”  
Ms. Brooke smiled icily. “Well Ms. Sutherland, we would remind them that it is imperative for their National safety and their duty as members of the United Kingdom to get with the program so to speak,” she said. “Now I would ask you a question is the reluctance based more on their issue of national sovereignty whether Scotland wishes to abide by London rule?”  
Isobel reddened. She was stunned. She knew that part of that reluctance was true. “Well Madam, no, “ replied with a slight stammer. “Many are concerned more about the subject of civil liberties-“  
Eleanor Brooke continued as if she hadn’t heard Isobel’s reply. “Because being from Northern Ireland myself, I understand where that distrust comes from but one thing to consider is that despite our flags or our various countries’ histories we are all British subjects now. We should all be willing to forgo our various national prides for the greater good of protecting our citizens.”  
Isobel felt like she wanted to crawl under a rock and die. This wasn’t her first encounter with Ms. Brooke, nor did she feel that it would be the last. Most people would have described the blond Cabinet minister as charming, witty, and bright. She may have been all that, but Eleanor just seemed fake to Isobel. Her smiles seemed to be forced and the way she spoke about other people seemed like a woman who would later gossip about them unmercifully at a party. However, she also had a tendency to make Isobel feel as though she were a country rube asking all of the ridiculously dumb questions. She had a feeling that wasn’t accidental.  


Eleanor responded to another reporter. “What about the proposals of identification chips being inserted into people? Will that be made mandatory?”  
Eleanor smiled thinly. “For now, that is an experimental phase. There are no foreseeable plans to make them mandatory. But if it was, now, honest citizens wouldn’t have anything to hide now would they?” She answered a few more questions before the press conference ended.  
Isobel gathered her things and edged away from the crowd. She put down a few comments on her blog and readied to put a video later that evening. She checked the comments. Many supporters and of course many critics had left their messages. She laughed at some of the ones that said things like “U stooped yocal bitch!! Dun’t now nothin’.” At least I know how to spell, she thought dryly. Years ago, comments like that would have upset her. But she learned that to be involved with the public, one had to take the bad with the good. She placed her Blackberry in her purse. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw someone standing across the street. Were they looking at the office or-She moved away from the crowd and turned to the corner and crossed the street. Sure enough the figure followed her. She might have dismissed him as a stalker or just a nutter, if she didn’t recognize him. She didn’t stop to ask herself why Hamish was dressed all in black, or why she was frightened of him. She just couldn’t ignore what he did the last time that she saw him. She walked away, her feet getting faster and faster. She was about to break into a run when she stumbled into the arms of another man.  


“I’m so glad to see you darling,” she said breathless. The man looked down at the reporter with a confused expression on his face. Isobel stood on her tip toes and kissed him. She pulled away and whispered in his ear. “Pretend you’re my boyfriend.”  
“No problem,” the man whispered back. He leaned down to kiss her again, a rather awkward position because of the dramatic differences in their height. His voice became louder. “It’s good to see you too as well. Did you miss me?”  
“More than I can count,” Isobel replied. “I can’t wait until our wedding.”  
“Oh don’t get too emotional,” he said. “It won’t be long now.” Isobel glanced out of the corner of her eye and sighed with relief. “He’s gone,” she said. “Thank you, Mr.—?”  
“Oh Ezzard,” he said. “Stephen Ezzard.” He took out his hand and Isobel shook it. Isobel blushed with embarrassment. She should have recognized him. She had seen him on the telly many times; Stephen Ezzard, Mathematician, Researcher, and face of TIA. He was everywhere, but lately seemed to have disappeared. She thought he seemed like a decent enough man, a bit confused but she did like him.  
“My name is Isobel Sutherland,” she replied. “Thank you again.”  
Stephen Ezzard smiled. “You’re welcome. Just consider me a hero to ladies in distress.”  
Isobel laughed. The tone of his voice indicated that he had a self-depreciating sense of humor. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked warily. “Who is the ‘he’ that you are concerned about?”  
“My boy-well he’s my former boyfriend,” Isobel replied. She looked around as though she could conjure up his image just by referring to him.  
“Does he hurt you?” Stephen asked.  
Isobel shook her head. “No, not like that. It’s-“ She hesitated. Stephen Ezzard was a complete stranger to her. Would he know or even care about her problems? She had been keeping this to her chest for far too long though. “He did something that I would never have thought that he would do and that frightens me.” She looked at his long face and saw something in him-loss, despair, and certainly understanding.  
“I know what that’s like,” he said. “But sometimes people do things that don’t seem to make sense for the right reasons.”  
“So do you think I should trust him?” Isobel asked.  
Stephen shrugged. “I can’t give you advice,” he said wearily. “I can’t help anyone these days. But, have you spoken to him about it?” She shook her head. “Then, I would at least question him to find out the truth.”  
Isobel nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She shook his hand and walked away. “Thank you for your help.”  
Stephen smiled. “Thank you for the kiss. It was rather pleasant.” Isobel laughed and turned away.  


Isobel headed across the street where she thought she saw Hamish. “Hamish,” she called. She walked across the buildings near a church. It was silent, the gravestones filling her with terror. “Hamish, answer me please.” She was desperate. “Hamish, I saw what happened. “ Her voice echoed across the cemetery. “I don’t know why you did it, but I just want to talk with you. Hamish, I’m worried about you and I’m still your friend.”  
David Russell stood behind the wall of the church hearing the voice of his twin brother’s ex-girlfriend. He held out his gun from the holster. Isobel was getting more frantic. Three thoughts entered his mind about her: 1) She was a reporter and was often on the lookout for a good story 2) She had obviously seen him shoot Martin Brandell and believed that Hamish did it and 3) She was the nosiest busybody in the entire world. The only secret that she ever managed to keep was her years-long infatuation with Hamish. Russell held out his gun, holding it in his hands. Isobel continued to call for Hamish. She walked closer right across from Russell. If she turned around the corner, she would have been face-to-face with him. Russell aimed his gun, ready to point it at the reporter. Suddenly, a voice entered his head, as if from another life: Should you ever change your mind or feel like coming home, you know where I live.. He thought for a minute and placed the gun back in the holster as he heard Hamish’s voice once again in his head. “Shut up, Ham,” David Russell nee, Ian Macbeth said to himself. as he walked away to one of his many hideouts.“Just shut the fuck up.”  


Hamish sat in the police station investigating the dead man’s body. He should have waited for the forensics report from Inverness. But he knew that Haley’s Comet would reappear in the sky before DI Bruce ever came for it, besides he needed to give him something more to report. He pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up a pair of tweezers. He reached in and pulled out the bullets from his back and within his face. Hamish felt sick. Brandell’s body had been in the water for near a month, rigor mortis had already set in and maggots and other parasites were making use of the body. It wasn’t just the body that made him violently ill. It was the fact that staring at this man had brought all of the feelings back: His father’s murder and three other former colleagues of his from his days in the military as well as another woman, his father’s involvement in a mission that resulted in the deaths of several schoolchildren in the then-Soviet Union, and furthermore the discovery of a training facility that trained child agents to serve British Intelligence including Hamish’s brother Ian.  
Hamish thought or hoped rather that he had put all of those things behind him when he said good-bye to Ian that night, the night that he shot and killed Martin Brandell after he threatened Hamish. He seemed to be rejecting Hamish’s help, but in the end seemed to be asking for it. He remembered his brother’s words: The only thing that you can do for me is get in your car, go home, and forget you ever saw me or talked to me. . It took a half-second for Hamish to hide the bullet. The other thing I can do for you Ian is at least give you a running start, he thought.  


“If you want to know my theory, I think he was shot,” the voice of Detective Jim Anderson announced as he entered the police station. Anderson settled in Lochdubh after the passing of Hamish’s friend and former partner, T.V. John McIver and Anderson’s dismissal by Bruce, whom they now derided as a “loathsome pompous ass” of course hardly ever to his face. Anderson was still a city boy, and was often at odds with Lochdubh’s slower pace but was a good friend to the constable.  


Hamish surreptiously placed the bullet into his pocket. “Aye, you would win that one,” he said. “However we don’t have any information about who he is or any lead on the weapon.”  
“You know in most cities we have people who do this type of thing,” Anderson said looking green and heaving at the smell.  
“No kidding,” Hamish mocked. “Why don’t we send for one of them? In case you’ve forgotten this police force consists of you and me. “  
“Can we find anything about him?” Anderson asked.  
Hamish shrugged. “Not unless we get word of his identity. We’d better contact Inverness.”  
“I’m way ahead of you. You know they have that new system in London, uh Total Information- Analysis?” Anderson said.  
“Awareness,” Hamish corrected. He was familiar with it and not just from the news. His younger brother, Murdo was one of the programmers for the system. Anderson nodded. “Maybe they might have something.”  
“If the Inverness or Glasgow forces have it, “Hamish prompted. “We don’t have access.”  
“Anyway, it should make our search a lot easier,” Anderson said.  
Hamish grinned. “Not the way my sister, Robyn talks about it. She says ‘it’s one step closer from turning Britain into a dictatorship.’ Of course considering some of the things I have heard she may not be too far off.” His younger sister, Robyn was certainly a feisty one. An artist, she lived in Soho with her life partner, Marcia. The two were often involved in one political protest or another. In fact they were involved in a group, Magna Carta that was speaking out against this sort of thing.  
Anderson reassured him. “I’m sure she’s exaggerating. Those rumors of detention centers are just that, rumors. Has anyone actually seen anyone get carted off or put in concentration camps?”  
“Well no, but-“ Hamish began.  
“It’s just a tool that will help people like us catch criminals and terrorists easier,” Anderson said to his friend.  
“If you say so,” Hamish said unconvinced.  


A few hours later, there wasn’t any more news than happened earlier. Frustrated, Hamish decided to go fishing to calm his mind. It would be a little while before he had to pick up Murron. However, he called Alec and his sleepy bored voice indicated that he was grouchy but other than that, he was fine. So finding a window of time, he decided to go fishing to clear his thoughts. Anderson waited in the police station for any word. The approaching car was almost an answer to his thoughts.  
Anderson waited for Bruce to emerge. “You’re early sir,” he said.  
“I’m always right on time, Anderson,” Bruce said coolly. “Where is he?”  
“In here sir,” Anderson pointed. Bruce looked at the dead man and like everyone else sickened and heaved. “Kronk you and Smith take him!” The detectives nodded and towed him into the police car. DI Bruce may have been a seasoned veteran but even he had limits about facing a dead body that had been deceased for nearly three weeks.  
“. Is Macbeth here?”, Anderson inquired.  
“He’s out fishing,” Anderson said. “He will be back soon. What are those?” He asked pointing at the oddly shaped guns that Anderson realized for the first time that Bruce was holding. They were narrow and pointed looking like something out of a science fiction film.  
“I have to give this to you and Macbeth,” he said. “I would prefer to talk to you both at once.”  
“Speak of the devil,” Anderson said. He noticed the constable arriving with his fishing pole and a large group of trout. Wee Jock stayed at his heels.  


“Did you catch all of those fish?” Bruce asked.  
“No, I talked them into giving themselves up,” Hamish joked. He gave the fish over to a reluctant Anderson. “The body is unidentified. He had been shot.”  
“Were there any witnesses?” Bruce asked.  
“None sir,” Hamish said.  
“What about gun shots, did anyone speak about hearing them?” Bruce asked.  
“Sir, this is grouse hunting season,” Hamish replied. “It’s not uncommon to hear shots any time day or night.”  
“Well our equipment has gotten better thanks to TIA,” Bruce answered. “We’ll make a positive identification. There’s another reason that I’m here. We have new requirements from London. These are for you.”  
He held out the odd weapons. “Oh, thank you, sir,” Hamish said. “But I didn’t get you anything especially not a- I want to say- blaster from Star Wars?”  
Bruce smiled thinly. It was clear he was not in the mood for jokes. “I wish that they were. These are to scan for National I.D. cards. Every police officer in Britain is now required to carry them.”  
Hamish and Anderson glanced at each other. Neither believed what they were hearing. “Are you serious?” Hamish asked. “Even in a place like this?”  
“Even in a place like this,” Bruce repeated. “So far some of the smaller towns in our area have been lackadaisical when it comes to being connected, but that will change soon. “  
“Still think this is a good idea?” Hamish asked his partner. Anderson shrugged as the constable turned to his superior officer. “I’m not about to do this, sir. First off, I know everyone in town by sight. I don’t need their cards to remind me who’s who. Second, most of the people either don’t have cards or let them expire a long time ago. I’d be arresting half the town for this offense. And third of all, since when does London get off telling us how to run this town?”  
“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “But this is not a request.”  
“As if people around here didn’t think we were are fascist enough,” Hamish said dryly.  
“You are not in this business to be liked, Hamish,” Bruce said. “You are in this to get the job done.”  
“Sir, this is ridiculous,” Hamish said.  
“Hamish, if you don’t do it, we will get someone who will,” Bruce shot back. “I don’t like it any better than you do but it just has to be done. I’m truly sorry.” Bruce’s final tone indicated that he really didn’t agree which helped only slightly. “We’ll look into the dead man.” Bruce said.

Patrick Nye received a phone call while he was in the lobby of the opera house. He held up a finger to his wife just as they were about to enter the theatre. “I’ll be right back,” he said.  
“Pat, this is our anniversary,” Diane said.  
“It will take a minute,” Nye assured his wife. He walked behind a hallway to give himself some privacy and checked the I.D. :Turney, Barbara. “What is it?” he asked.  
“We may have a breach in security,” Turney said. “I want you to look into it.”  
Nye tensed. “What type of breach?”  
“A man has been found in Scotland,” she said. “He was pulled out of a lake.”  
That means what to me, Nye wanted to say. “What’s the problem?” he asked.  
“It may be Martin Brandell,” Turney said.  
“Figures,” Nye sighed. He knew that he would have to take care of the evidence and he knew that he wouldn’t like it. He hung up the phone and headed straight for the theatre to explain to his wife why he had to leave on another “business trip.  


Hamish questioned one of the farmers, Phil McGregor about some petty thefts in his barn, mostly sheep and swine. “So you didn’t hear or see anything, did you?”  
Phil shook his head. “No,” he said. “I just thought that I would report it. I have a crop needs to be marked.”  
“Is there anyone that I could question?” Hamish replied. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see the window drapes open and then shut. “It could be some young person causing trouble. Maybe, I should contact some of the local bairns to see if they know anything.”  
“No,” Phil said almost in shock. “I’m sure that they will get back. They may have just escaped!”  
Once again, Hamish saw the drapes open and shut. “How long has your daughter been back from Aberdeen?”  
“A few weeks,” Phil answered reluctantly.  
“And that’s about as long as the livestock have gone missing?” Hamish said. “She knows how to handle them doesn’t she?”  
“Since the day she was born, “Phil replied. He sighed again. “She had a lot of problems in University, made a lot of bad friends and a lot of bad choices. She has a habit of taking things that she shouldn’t and she owes money.”  
Hamish nodded. “I think she could use a talk with her dad.” The constable hesitated. “I’m going to have to ask for your I.D.”  
Phil glared. Instantly, the formerly friendly farmer who was anxious about his daughter was replaced by a hostile suspect questioning the officer in front of him. “It’s official procedure, Phil,” Hamish said. “I’m sorry.”  
Phil held out his wallet and handed Hamish his I.D. Hamish shrugged and pushed it inside the detector and handed it back. “Thank you, Phil.” Hamish entered his Land Rover. He was just about to start the car when he saw Phil spit in his direction.  
Hamish drove into town and parked his car. Many of the townspeople looked at him warily. He waved to The MacRaes who looked down at him as if avoiding his gaze. Hamish sighed and entered Rory’s store planning on buying snack food for Murron and Alec. He made his selections and approached the cash register.  
Rory glanced at his purchases and rang them up. “15.75.” he said. Hamish paid for them and Rory pointed at the sign: “No I.D. No purchases.” Hamish sighed and handed Rory his card. Rory marked it as he took Hamish’s money. The constable left the store and returned to his house.  


Hamish sat in his sitting room lost in thought and reading Chuck Sadler’s latest Cowhand novel to block his worries. If only life could be as simple as they were in fiction. He had finished making supper for Murron and Alec and now they were doing their schoolwork, he hoped. He hated these new regulations and he knew that the people of Lochdubh did too. Understandably, they blamed him for it. Hamish couldn’t blame them, he didn’t like making them hand him their I.D. and treating them as though they were just marks on a database and not people. He couldn’t stand the frosty looks from his friends each time he asked them or the not too loud comments about fascism or jack booted thugs. He used to let those comments roll off of him, but now he was beginning to agree.  
He heard a pair of footsteps emerge down the stairs. “Where’s your schoolwork?” He asked Alec. His suspension ended so he hoped that he was better behaved.  
“At school,” Alec said dryly.  
“Then how were you planning on doing it here?” Hamish asked.  
“Mental telepathy,” Alec offered. Hamish silenced his kid brother with a look, but then smiled. “What’s the matter?”  
“Nothing,” Hamish said. The detector dangled on his lap. “Sometimes being a police officer isn’t all I hoped.”  
“Getting a lot of crap then,” Alec suggested.  
“Aye, that would be an understatement,” Hamish said.  
“You could just say no,” Alec said. “Would anyone really care?”  
“They might, “ Hamish replied.  
“But you hate doing it,” Alec said. “Why would you do something that would make Bruce happy?” Hamish grinned. He made his opinions about Bruce known to his younger siblings and it was even a family joke.  
“Because, I could lose my job and that may make things difficult for you and Murrie,” Hamish sighed.  
“Aren’t there some things worth standing up for?” Alec asked. “Don’t you always tell us to stand up for our rights or we’ll fall every time?”  
Hamish ruffled his younger brother’s hair in the way that irritated him, but somehow comforted him. (Though he never wanted to admit it to his brother)“You know when you aren’t being a holy terror, you’re actually a smart lad.”  
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Alec said dryly.  
“You’d better get in bed, you do have school tomorrow,” Hamish quipped.  
“I’m looking forward to it,” Alec groaned. Hamish looked at the detector and considered.  


“Are you mad?” Anderson said as Hamish stepped on the detector and destroyed it. “You just kissed your career good-bye, do you know that?”  
“Jim, I am not going to let London bully me into doing something that I know is wrong,” Hamish retorted. “I have always told my brothers and sisters that they know where they stand and so do I. I agree to this and I will be the biggest hypocrite to them.”  
“Well if you don’t do this, you will be biggest most unemployed honest man around,” Jim said dryly. “Hamish regulations state that officers have to report any infractions that their fellow officers do to impair these new requirements, including falsifying data, destroying any links to the system, or refusing to carry the detectors. I am saying this because I am your friend, but I am also a police officer. I am giving you some time to reconsider.”  
Hamish face was hardened and there was no change. “You do what you have to do, Anderson. I’ll do what I have to do.” He said. “I’ll be on patrol.”  


Nye exited the building with the other agents carrying the body of Martin Brandell. The detective inspector, Bruce, was pretty cooperative. “Take his body and burn it,” he said. “Afterwards, I need you two to go up north.”  
“Where, sir?” Johnson one of the aides asked.  
“To a town called Lochdubh,” Nye replied. “He was shot and there’s someone there who we can question as to why.”  


Hamish drove the Land Rover up a hill. It had a dirt narrow road so steering could be difficult to manage. He turned up the radio to give him some rhythm as he steered. He turned a corner when he saw a car, a black sedan, speed up right ahead of him. Hamish pushed the wheel to steady it. “Well that was nice and stupid,” he said. The car stopped ahead of him. Hamish honked politely to get it to move, when he saw another similar looking sedan behind him through the rear view mirror. A tall man exited the sedan and approached the Land Rover. He tapped on the window. “Constable Macbeth, I would like you to step outside of your vehicle, please.”  
Hamish tensed. He understood how many suspects feel. “May, I ask why?” he said.  
“Just step out of the car, sir,” the man replied. “We would like to have your expertise on a case.”  
Hamish stopped the Rover and emerged from the vehicle. “What kind of expertise?” He asked.  
“Just come with us please,” the man said.  
There was something about this exchange made Hamish uneasy. “Alright let me get in my car and I will follow you.”  
“No sir,” the man said. “We would like you to come with us.”  
“I’m afraid that I would rather take my vehicle,” Hamish said warily. He stepped away from the road, when someone grabbed him from behind.  
“I’m afraid we must insist,” the man repeated. Hamish felt a slight jab in his arm as sleep overcame him.  


A few hours later, Russell hid as usual in the alley as he saw an unmarked sedan pull into an unfamiliar office. He stepped inside his van and flipped on his laptop. The image showed the parking garage as two men emerged from the sedan holding another figure between them. The rogue agent felt what shreds of humanity that still remain shake inside him as he closed in on the face of the person that they were carrying. He knew one thing: This was something that he couldn’t do by himself.  
Hamish felt groggy as he woke up. The back of his neck throbbed. He held onto his aching forehead as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was in a small cell like the one at the police station. He rose warily from the cot and paced. Where was he? How did he get here? There was nothing except a light bulb on the ceiling. He walked towards the cell door. It felt like glass. He pounded on it with his fists, but it wouldn’t move. “Hey,” he said. “What am I doing here? Where am I?” He pounded harder. “You can’t keep me in here! I haven’t done anything wrong!” There was no answer. “You can’t keep me here against my will!  
I will have nothing good to say about this place, when I get home!” He yelled.  
“You won’t be getting home,” a soft female voice sounded. Hamish crawled to the direction from where the voice was coming from: on the other side of a wall. He looked down at an air vent. “Believe me, “the voice said. “I’ve been here long enough.”  
“Who are you?” Hamish asked. “What are you doing here?”  
“My name is Caroline Scott,” the woman said. “And I’m the same as you. I’m a prisoner here.”  
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Hamish declared. “At least nothing that they have told me!”  
“Neither have I,” Caroline said. “Chances are no one here has. They just want information and they will do anything to get it.”  
Hamish gasped in panic. He had to think clearly about what he could do, what these people wanted, and how he was ever going to get out!


	2. In The Wake of This Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stephen Ezzard receives a request from a familiar source, Hamish becomes is interrogated by some unique methods and makes a new friend in prison, and his friends and family bond together to discover Hamish's whereabouts.

The Shadow’s Reflection  
A Hamish Macbeth/Last Enemy X-Over

Chapter Two: In The Wake of this Madness 

Author’s Note: Rhys, The Reader is an original character. 

Stephen Ezzard scribbed down his latest mathematical research trying to take no notice of the eyes that he knew were watching. Don’t think, don’t act, he thought silently, don’t give them any reason. That was how he lived from day to day, just writing, researching, talking only to very few people and only in generalities, never making any waves.  
Since he had lost his brother, Michael and Yasim Anwar, the only woman he could say he ever loved, he lost his taste for any rebellion. He knew the only place for privacy was inside his own head and inside his own head was where the darker thoughts remained. He didn’t even write down his subversive ideas on paper in case he was being monitored or whether someone could sneak in and steal the paper only to use it later.  
Stephen continued to type the data on his computer when he heard a knock at the door. He looked through the window and cringed inwardly. There was a time when he would have been happy to see Eleanor Brooke at his door, but now things were a lot different. It seemed any time he saw her these days it was some sort of bad news or at least a reminder that he was under surveillance. He shrugged, maybe she had the news that he hoped for. 

He opened the door to let Eleanor enter. She practically barged in as though the apartment were still hers. Make yourself at home, Stephen thought bitterly when really he wanted to tell her to sod off but he still needed her help. “Have you heard anything?”  
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Stephen, I told you before Yasim Anwar was sent back to her country. Technically she was here illegally. Beyond that I can’t tell you anything.”  
“But surely you could give me an email or home address something?” Stephen said. “After all I’ve done for you, don’t you owe me that much?”  
“Stephen I would have no idea how to locate her,” Eleanor said.  
“You mean a multi-trillion pound computer system which has the ability to count the hairs on someone’s head doesn’t have the ability to find one address?” Stephen asked incredulously.  
“I told you the system is not 100% perfect,” Eleanor said like an exasperated teacher to a student. “Her current location information is still unlisted. Our so-called brilliant research/analysis team from Edinburgh is supposed to be fixing that. Anyway, she’s been gone for almost a month don’t you think that if she wanted to contact you again then she would? It’s not like she didn’t know where you lived?” She sounded somewhat jealous about that. “Don’t you think its about time for you to move on?”  
Stephen looked at his former girlfriend warily. Not for the first time did he wonder if Eleanor knew more about Yasim and possibly Michael’s current locations than she was willing to admit. Eleanor continued to talk. “Besides I’m not so sure that you hadn’t already moved on.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stephen said. “I mostly have been working on my research AS YOU WELL KNOW???” He yelled the last part louder purposely to the people that he knew were listening. “I haven’t been with anyone.”  
“Oh and what were you doing with Isobel Sutherland outside Parliament the other day,” she said her expression extremely icy. He looked confused so she continued. “You know, short, pale, brunette Scottish reporter with a voice like a moaning ghost?” 

Stephen nodded. Of course Isobel, the woman near the cemetery. “She was concerned, someone was following her and she appeared frightened of him that’s all.”  
“I figured it was something like that,” Eleanor answered. “You like to be the knight to ladies in distress don’t you? I just wanted to be sure that she wasn’t going to put you on another wild goose chase where we would have had trouble locating you.”  
“Afraid that I might be ‘led astray’ again?” Stephen asked acidly. One would think I was paranoid, he thought bitterly, if Eleanor is worried that any other contacts could lead me to betray them.  
“Of course not, Stephen, I trust you,” Eleanor replied. “I just want to be sure that I continue to have reasons to trust you.”  
“Well you can be sure my rebellious days are behind me,” Stephen said. “I couldn’t fight against the system even if I wanted to which I don’t.” He wanted to gag.  
“Well keep it that way,” Eleanor said.  
“Trust me I know I’m the last person that you want as an enemy,” Stephen said echoing Eleanor’s words.  
After Eleanor Brooke left the apartment, Stephen boiled some water for his tea when the sound of a fire alarm made him jump with alarm. He rolled his eyes and flipped off the microwave. He walked outside with the other tenants. He reached the city streets along with the crowd and glanced upwards for signs of fire. He couldn’t see any. Of course that didn’t mean that there wasn’t, but still something seemed odd about this whole situation. He felt like someone was watching him. Not electronically, but physically. Perhaps it was all of that cloak-and-dagger stuff that happened to him after Michael’s death had left a permanent scar on his psyche. He stepped back trying to move away from the crowd, but he could feel someone grab him and knock him out. 

When Stephen Ezzard came to, he felt completely groggy. His eyes opened to see the dingy walls of a flophouse flat. He had been lying on a cot. He looked down confused. He was still fully dressed and he felt for his pocket to see that his wallet was still intact. He felt something soft on his arm. Confused, Stephen took off his jacket and opened his sleeve to see a white gauze wrapped around his arm. He was very confused about what it could all mean. He never believed urban legends about people kidnapping others for their kidneys or other organs but then again he never would have believed that there would be nationwide electronic surveillance system outside of George Orwell. He opened his shirt to see that his skin was bare. Sighing with relief that at least his kidneys were intact, Stephen sneaked off the cot hoping to make it out the door. Why was he always being kidnapped and held in the worst places in London? Was he born with a sign that said “Please snatch me, I’m a genius fool?” Well Stephen could at least take comfort that his kidnapper wasn’t that insange rogue agent David Russell. Just then the door opened. Wrong about everything, Stephen thought bitterly. 

“I wouldn’t leave if I were you, Ezzard,” a familiar Scottish growl emerged as a familiar small leather-clad grizzeled man blocked the door way. “Have a seat,” Russell invited as he held the gun at the mathemetician.  
Stephen rolled his eyes more irritated and annoyed at this man who once frightened him for taking him a second time. “Russell, don’t you knock on a door and wait to be invited inside like most people?” He asked figuring that it was Russell who had pulled the fire alarm to create confusion so he could take him without anyone noticing.  
“Most people are fucking idiots,” Russell answered. “I did not bring you here to chat.”  
“I sort of guessed that,” Stephen said dryly. “And you probably guessed that I am not interested in what you brought me here for.”  
He looked around this hideout at least it wasn’t the old train depot with the electric fence. He stood next to the door while Russell’s back was turned and turned the doorknob. Instead of the door opening, it triggered a gun aimed at the doorway. The gun aimed and fired. Stephen managed to duck out of the way before the gun fired a bullet right at him. “On second thought, I am very interested,” Stephen muttered and sat back down on the cot.  
Russell pulled out a flask and poured whiskey in a glass. “Drink?” he invited.  
Stephen held up a hand in no thanks. He was pretty sure that Russell wasn’t insane enough to poison someone after kidnapping them at least without revealing why he  
was kidnapping them first, but then again he was pretty insane enough to shoot at them and push them in front of an electric fence to get them to to along with him.  
“Too bad its good stuff,” Russell said as he swallowed it down. Stephen gave a slight sigh knowing that it was purposeful means of intimidation.  
“Why exactly did you call me here Russell?” Stephen asked. “I did all that you asked me before and it ended up getting my brother and Yasim exiled. Now, I am sorry that you lost your stepdaughter, but I cannot help you now. I cannot imagine what you could possibly want from me now.”  
“The only thing that you are useful for to me or technically to anyone, information,” Russell said dryly.  
Stephen Ezzard shook his head. “I can’t. I’m afraid your intimidation practices won’t work this time. I don’t have government security access any longer. I’m a UNAS, unaffiliated subversive. I’ve been restricted from most government files and I’m being monitored.”  
“Aye, I thought of that,” Russell nodded at Stephen’s arm. The mathematician looked at his arm and realized that the microchip that had been monitoring him had been removed. That explained the gauze. Just to be sure, he opened it to see a large welt where the chip used to be. He touched his arm gently as Russell said. “There ain’t anything made that can’t be later found to be infallible.”  
“You removed the chip from my arm,” Stephen asked confused. “Why would you-On top of everything else, isn’t that slightly dangerous?” Did he trust someone with no medical knowledge to remove a top secret tiny microchip from his arm? What if he ended up with gangrene or blood poisoning?  
“I called in a favor,” Russell said matter-of-factly. “And as for you, I’m calling in another favor. Think of it as I do you a favor, you do me one.”  
“A quid pro quo,” Stephen asked still suspicious that Russell was being, well what passed for Russell, mostly friendly in this conversation. “What do you want?” 

“I need you to look up a name for me on the system,” Russell said. “One name, Hamish Macbeth.”  
“Macbeth like the Scottish play?” Stephen asked.  
“Not particularly,” Russell replied. He felt like kicking himself using the old family joke about the Shakespeare play and hoping that Ezzard was too dumb to catch that. “Anyway, he was made a prisoner. I want to find out where he was sent, terms of his sentence, and any particular features of his imprisonment.”  
“You mean any weaknesses so this Macbeth can escape,” Stephen asked. “Don’t you have access to any of that.”  
“My access is currently being denied,” Russell replied. “And I needed some help in finding what I need to know.”  
“So you came to me,” Stephen reasoned.  
“Well I was going to ask the smartest man in London with that face,” Russell said. Stephen was flattered that the rogue agent recognized genius when he saw it until Russell continued. “But alas he was unavailable, so I had to make do with the second.” 

Stephen glared at the insult. “Even though I am technically no longer a subversive-,” Stephen began delicately holding up his arm. “That’s still a long way from being granted government access. They won’t let me on. I’d have to find some clever way to get around it.”  
“You’re a genius, I’m sure you will figure something out,” Russell said dryly.  
“And what would I get if I helped you,” Stephen asked somewhat fearful of negotiating.  
“Information that you have wanted for some time now,” Russell said. “The whereabouts of Michael Ezzard and Yasim Anwar.”  
“You know where they are?” Stephen asked. “I can communicate with them?”  
“I know where they are,” Russell said enigmatically. “If you do this for me, I will tell you about them.”  
“Why is this Hamish Macbeth that important to you?” Stephen asked.  
“Part of the deal is that you don’t ask questions neither about me or Macbeth,” Russell replied. After all if he recruited Stephen Ezzard to assist him, he would find out the truth just by looking at Hamish but the less he knew now the better it was. “Now are you willing or not?”  
Stephen hesitated. The last time he helped David Russell he nearly got himself killed. Was he ready for Round Two? Then again, he knew where Yasim and Michael were. How could he turn that down? He had vague hopes that if he and Yasim couldn’t physically be together, that maybe there was some way some how they can continue their relationship even electronically. Perhaps, if Yasim could not return to Britain now that the microchip had been removed, Stephen could come to her. Of course could he trust that Russell was telling the truth? One thought stood out, “If I can get back on the system, I can look up their names myself. You would have nothing to bargain with.”  
“A system can be altered by the humans who run it,” Russell said impatiently. “If they put something in there, it may not be the truth. I will tell you the truth, but only after you do this for me.”  
Wat choice did Stephen have? It wasn’t like Russell was asking him anything too dangerous just to look up a name. “Alright, I’ll do it.”  
“I knew you’d see things my way,” Russell said. He then picked up a blindfold from the desk and gave a strange impish grin. “Now you know the drill.” 

Hamish felt like he was going mad. In a normal world, he would be told the circumstances of his crime, be placed in a temporary gaol, and get to meet his attorney. In a normal world, he would know where the Hell his prison was and why he was there in the first place. He wasn’t even sure what world he was in now.  
He lost count over how many days that he was held in this prison. The only people that he saw were the guards that occasionally brought him food, three times a day and those who interrogated him. Mostly for now, they kept just asking him questions. So far except for a few impatient guards roughing him up, he hadn’t been tortured but they kept going at him asking him all kinds of things particularly about Martin Brandell. When did he see him last? Does he know where he is? What happened after their last encounter?  
Hamish rubbed the lump on his forehead. He explained his latest encounter with his gaolers. “I told them if they were so concerned about justice then they would know where Martin Brandell was because he would be serving a prison sentence for my father’s murder. And I might have told them to fuck off.”  
From behind the air vent, Caroline Scott laughed. “I probably told them the same.”  
Caroline explained that as far as she knew she had been there because she had spoken to a man called, Stephen Ezzard about some problems in a pharmaceutical company that she had worked in. “I didn’t tell him anything of consequence, I swear,” she vowed. “I just told him once that the line broke down and some other specialists were called to fix it before we returned. I can’t imagine what more they could want from me. I was found out about talking to him and was let go of my job shortly thereafter anyway. I think they said something about consorting with potential enemies of the state.”  
“Yeah, they said something like that to me too,” he said. “Funny how many times have I arrested people and I now understand what its like for people in solitary confinement. I don’t even know where here is. The only thing I can guess is somewhere in England because I haven’t heard any of the guards speak with a Scottish accent.”  
“Without windows, its hard to tell but I believe that we are underground and in a city,” Caroline replied.  
“How do you know that?” Hamish asked. “Do you have X-Ray Specs?”  
Caroline giggled. “No, once when they were transferring me to be interrogated I could hear the sound of traffic from up above. It sounded like a lot of it.”  
“That’s a good observation,” Hamish reasoned. 

In their imprisonment, the two had begun to bond. They couldn’t say very much about the circumstances of their imprisonment, who knew who was watching or spying on them but they did begin to open up about their personal lives. He told Isobel about Lochdubh, his friends, his family including his siblings, his Westland Terrier, Wee Jock, and his love of westerns and old television shows. He learned that Caroline was divorced with a 12-year-old daughter Isobel or Izzy and lived in East London with her mum, Peg, her daughter, and two “lovable monsters,” two labradors named “Pris,” and “Wolf.” He knew that she loved science fiction novels particularly Philip K. Dick, which began the two in conversations about favorite books and movies.  
“So is the man a bloody replicant or isn’t he?” Hamish asked incredulous at her description of her favorite movie.  
“Well that’s it, you don’t know,” she said. “It’s purposely left open-ended for the audience to decide so they don’t know for sure. Its very symbolic, so there are plenty of debates on the matter.”  
“That’s probably more symbolism than I can handle,” Hamish said. “In my mind just tell the bloody story straightforward from beginning to end. None of this prancing around, just get it out as simple, neat, and black and white as possible.”  
“That probably explains your love of westerns,” Caroline said.  
“Aye, I suppose it does,” Hamish answered. He smiled. During conversations like this, he could forget that he was in prison for reasons that he did not fully understand. He could just pretend that he and Caroline were two strangers that met in a pub and had a few laughs and maybe not a romance, but certainly an honest connection, and not two prisoners who could only communicate with each other through an air vent. 

“Have they tortured you yet?”  
Caroline paused for a long time and Hamish wasn’t sure if she heard his question or not. “Yes a few times. It’s strange, you see it all the time in films, but its nothing like how it is really. They first dunked my head in cold water and had one of the female guards rough me up. I guess they had enough “class” that they didn’t want me to be hurt by a man. Then they strapped me to this machine, I think it was a lie detector of some sort but it seemed more advanced more like an MRI because my image was on the screen with my brainwaves. I think they wanted to monitor my brain activity while asking me questions.”  
“So a more modern way of seeing whether you are lying or telling the truth,” Hamish said bitterly. “What a world we live in.”  
“A few times they sent for The Reader,” she said the last name with such an unmistakeable sound of fear and dread that Hamish shuddered.  
“Oh no not ‘The Reader’,” he said in mock exaggerated horror hoping to make the woman laugh again. “Anything but the ‘The Reader!’” He stopped for a minute. “What’s a Reader?”  
“It’s not a what,” Caroline answered. “It’s a who. It’s what they call him.  
Those times, while they were talking to me, my interrogators were in a 2 way room behind a mirror. I could hear their voices over the loudspeaker, but one man was in the room with me. He looked straight at me as they were asking me questions. At first simple ones about my family, then personal ones about my politics, and then finally ones about the incident that got me here. Through it all, this man, The Reader, kept staring at me never saying anything back. Finally, when they were finished. The man went into the room, I suppose to confer with the interrogators. Then he returned to the room and this time the interrogators started making threats, not just towards me but towards my family. Hamish, they knew everything about them! They knew where they lived, where my daughter went to school, who their friends were! They knew just about everything about her! I think that’s what The Reader does.”  
Hamish was confused. “So you think this Reader may have had access to TIA and knew all of that about your daughter and used it against you?”

“No, you don’t get it,” Caroline said. “If it had been paperwork on Izzy, her school records, trips that we took, even her reading lists, I’d have understood it, but these were memories! Those can’t be found on a database! They quoted words that I said to Izzy when she was upset about her friend moving away, pet names that I had for her when she was little, just about everything about her! I think that’s what the Reader does. I think he pulled that from my mind and gave that information to them.”  
“You mean that he can read minds, that he’s what do they call it telekinetic-“  
“-Telepathic,” Caroline finished for him. “I think he is.”  
Hamish asked uncertain. “Caroline, I don’t know-“  
“-Is it really that incredible to believe?” Caroline said. “ I mean they can follow you, trace your every step, can tell if you are writing, emailing, or speaking to an enemy but they can’t know what you are thinking, whom you are trying to protect. A Lie Detector only goes so far in proving whether you are lying or telling the truth, but what if you have good reason? If you are trying to protect someone and your thoughts end up betraying your words, wouldn’t they have complete control over you?”  
“It makes sense,” Hamish said. “But if that were true, this Reader is only one person. He can’t possibly know everything or be everywhere to intimidate.”  
“Maybe he isn’t the only one,” Caroline said. “Maybe there are others with latent psychic abilities that are being trained for interrogation.”  
“I think you’ve been reading your science fiction novels,” Hamish tried to reassure her but he also was frightened himself. What if what this girl said was true?  
“Hamish, I can’t go to them again like that, I just can’t,” Caroline said. From the other side of the wall, he could tell that Caroline was sobbing. “After they told me all of that, they threatened to find Izzy and do-things to her! It was like they laid her out in the open in front of me! She’s only 12-years-old. She’s had a birthday since I’ve been in here!  
I could never live with myself if they hurt her! I can’t go in front of the Reader again!”  
“I won’t let you,” Hamish vowed.  
“Oh and how would you stop it?” Caroline challenged. “Hamish, you are on the other side of that wall! There is nothing you can do!”  
Hamish put his fingers under the air vent so the tips could be made visible on the other side if even through the grating. “Caroline, I have my fingers on the vent grating. I promise you this, I will not let them hurt you again and if by some chance, I get out then I am taking you with me. If you understand, put your fingers on the grating.”  
He could hear Caroline’s voice change to that subtle teasing. “You would take me with you, what if you don’t like what you see?”  
Hamish smiled. “I’m sure you are stunning, a tall gorgeous supermodel with exotic black hair and a too-die-for-face as much as I am a muscular, deeply tanned, athletic build hero-type that even George Clooney and Jon Hamm live in envy from.”  
“Try a short, plump blond, Cockney who still gets mistaken for a 13 year old,” Caroline replied. “I played little girl’s roles in Am-Drams until I was 30.”  
“Short, sandy haired, Scotsman who could be mistaken for Rumplestiltskin at your service,” Hamish teased back but then became serious. “Caroline, no matter what happens, I promise you this. We are getting through this together. I am not going to let anyone hurt you. Please, Caroline, I promise.” He looked down at the vent and could see the tips of her fingers touch the other side. Hamish sighed with relief as their hands managed to touch the small metal on the wall that barred them. 

Patrick Nye and Barbara Turney watched the footage of Hamish Macbeth’s interrogation from the control room. The constable had been sleep deprived and beaten, but he refused to speak. Now he was strapped to the Lie Detector as the men were talking.  
“Where is Martin Brandell,” one man said.  
“How the fuck should I know?” Hamish snarled sounding a great deal like a certain relative, Turney couldn’t resist thinking. Even though Hamish was clearly angry and possibly frightened, he kept his voice cool and in control, a fact noted by Nye.  
“Being a constable he’s probably used to seeing interrogations from the opposite end,” he observed. “He’s going to be a tough one to crack.”  
“Everyone has their breaking point,” Turney reasoned.  
The neurologist in charge, Dr. Robert Owen glanced at the readings on the computer. “He is clearly hiding something. His voice and gestures indicate that. But his brain waves show that he is telling the truth or at least believes that he is.”  
Nye and Turney exchanged glances. “You know what to do,” she said.  
Nye pushed a few buttons on his Smartphone. “Send for the Reader,” he said. 

The young man entered the prison quietly as he handed them his I.D. He gave the guard a seductive smile as he let the card go through the system. The guard’s slight grin gave him the notion that he returned the stare. The guard was handsome, maybe he could meet him later when his shift ended. The young man then heard a whisper as though the guard were saying it aloud, Wish I had that one. Wonder if he’s available, Sure hope Cynthia don’t find out! Hate to get in trouble with him like I did with the neighbor boy.  
The young man accepted the I.D. from the guard with thanks. He was about to be led inside when he said to the guard, “I assure you Cynthia won’t find out like she did with Hari. Though fucking him outside your Council block garage was probably not the brightest thing that you could do now was it?”  
The young man said with a quiet measured voice. He gave an impish grin as the guard led him through with a dumbfounded confused look on his face. 

Hamish heard the door unlock as a man entered. From Caroline’s description of the process, he had guessed that he was the Reader. Hamish was not sure what to expect when he pictured the Reader, perhaps an elderly gray haired creepy man out of a horror film. He was not prepared for the young man in front of him. He was small, maybe only an inch or two above him and was very young in appearance. He couldn’t have been more than 15. He had shaggy dark red-almost black hair close to his shoulders and right on top of his eyes. He was dressed entirely in black, a black shirt, overcoat, and trousers. He stared at Hamish with very cold icy blue eyes and sat in a chair directly across from him. He placed his hands on the table and sat straight forward never taking his gaze off Hamish for a moment. Hamish remembered Caroline’s theory about the young man being telepathic. He knew that no matter what, he had to clear his head and not give anything away even in thought. He looked straight at the young man refusing to let anything enter his mind, a complete blank slate that even Lachlan MacRae Jr. could envy, he hoped.  
“Are you ready?” a booming deep male voice said from the other room.  
“I’m ready sir,” the young man said, his voice almost robotic how quiet and unassuming it sounded.  
“I’m not,” Hamish said aloud. “I have told you before that you have no right to keep me here. I am a Police Constable, an officer of the law! I haven’t done anything wrong! Just talk to my partner, Seargent Jim Anderson or my superior, Detective Inspector David  
Bruce of Inverness. They will both vouch for me!”  
“We cannot do that Macbeth until you tell us what we need to know,” the voice said.  
“Dammit, I told you everything that I know,” Hamish said. “Let me make a phone call, please. I need to talk to my friends, my brother and sister. I’m sure they are worried about me!” 

“Then lets go over this again,” the voice said. “When did you last see Martin Brandell?”  
Hamish was stricken. He couldn’t let even that thought enter. The Reader looked directly at him as if peering into his soul. He was tired. The constant hours of sleep deprivation, constant questioning, water dunking, beatings, and now the machines were beginning to get to him. Maybe if he hedged his bet and only told a half truth, that may be enough.  
“When we came to arrest him. I had evidence that he was involved in my father’s murder and some representatives from the HMIC came and ordered his release.” The Reader looked towards the mirror and shook his head.  
“That must have made you angry,” the voice said. “After all, a man gets away for the murder of your father and he gets to walk. They don’t even go through the charade of giving him a trial. Instead he is released because you weren’t doing your job!”  
“The hell I didn’t,” Hamish snapped. “I had gathered the evidence! Other parties just either removed them or threw them out!” The Reader this time nodded. Hamish quickly guessed that if The Reader was genuinely telepathic then his nods indicated that Hamish was telling the truth and the head shakes indicated that he was lying.  
“Still, anyone would certainly be angry about that situation,” the guard continued. “Guilty that they couldn’t tie all of the ends together to make it tight enough. So they slipped through their fingers. Certainly it would make someone angry enough to seek vengeance and take their life.”  
“Are you trying to trick me with a good cop-bad cop routine because seriously it won’t work,” Hamish taunted.  
“I understand there was a body that was pulled from the lake near your home,” the voice guard said. “Was it identified?”  
Hamish shook his head. “No it was not.” The Reader nodded.  
“What was the cause of death?” the man asked.  
“He was shot once in the back of the head,” Hamish replied. The Reader nodded.  
“With what gun?” the guard asked.  
“I don’t know,” Hamish answered. “Without ballistics match, I couldn’t be sure.” The Reader once again nodded.  
“Was it Martin Brandell?” the man asked.  
“I don’t know,” Hamish answered. “The man had been dead for several weeks. We couldn’t identify him without results from Inverness. We aren’t tied to your precious system yet!” The Reader shook his head.  
“I will ask you again was it Martin Brandell?” the man asked.  
“I told you I don’t know,” Hamish answered. The Reader shook his head. 

Hamish decided to try a different tactic. Maybe it was his turn to ask questions. He turned to the young man in front of him. “What’s your name?”  
The man blinked as if surprised that he would ask him anything. “Rhys,” he answered.  
“And how old are you, Rhys?” Hamish asked.  
“He is not here to talk to you,” the voice snapped.  
Rhys looked annoyed at the interruption and answered Hamish’s question probably out of spite if nothing else. “25.”  
Hamish nodded. “I wouldn’t have even guessed that old.” Rhys offered a thin smile that seemed almost human. “What are you doing here, Rhys?”  
Before Rhys could answer, the man asked another question. “Was the dead man, Martin Brandell?”  
“I am getting very tired of you asking that, you know,” Hamish stood up ready to march out the door. “I am about ready to let you have it!”  
“And what would you do Macbeth,” the voice taunted. “You are hardly in a position to carry out any threats.”  
Hamish sat back down. “You may be right about that,” he said. But I will accidentally dent your car on the way out, he thought angrily.  
From across the room, Hamish could see Rhys put his hand to his mouth in a quick gesture but then put it back down. He wondered if the young man was trying to suppress a laugh about Hamish’s threat to dent the man’s car. Maybe Caroline’s theory about the young man being telepathic was true. Perhaps, he could test the waters a bit. If you can read my mind, tap the table twice, Hamish said. Rhys folded his hands on the table top continuing to fix Hamish with that enigmatic stare. He raised his pinky and quickly tapped the table twice. 

The guard began to speak again from the room. “Macbeth, do you know a man named David Russell?”  
Hamish started. How did they know about him? Did they know what he had done to Brandell? Hamish held his breath. “No, I do not.” Rhys seemed to pause for a moment seemingly surprised or confused about the question. He turned to the mirror and shook his head.  
“Did he kill Martin Brandell?” the guard asked.  
“I told you I don’t know what happened to Brandell and I don’t know who David Russell is,” Hamish repeated testily. He mentally vowed that if he ever saw Ian no matter what he was calling himself these days, he would give him the beating of his life  
for putting him through this. Thanks a lot dear brother, he sarcastically thought.  
Once again Rhys hesitated and Hamish felt like kicking himself. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance. After he had just realized that Rhys really was telepathic, he mentally revealed something incriminating about himself and Ian.  
Rhys had yet to respond to Hamish’s answer so the voice again asked. “Did David Russell kill Martin Brandell?”  
Hamish looked just as close into Rhys’ eyes as he did Hamish’s. Instead of cold and blank, Hamish could see something else, a humanity in him, a softness. Hamish wasn’t himself a mind reader, but the young man’s expression betrayed more than any words. His years of being a police officer gave Hamish the training to recognize in someone’s facial features or gestures, something that they did not want to betray. He could see right now as soon as they mentioned David Russell’s name, Rhys was definitely hiding something. He inwardly scoffed at the irony that this interrogator who was trying to reveal the deep secrets of their prisoners obviously had some deep secrets of his own.  
In case he was wrong, Hamish could not reveal anything beyond what he already had. “I do not know,” he said. Rhys looked to the mirror and nodded. 

Hamish sighed with relief hoping that the Reader was lying to protect him. No not protect him, he was lying to protect Russell, Ian, his brother. Hamish looked him up and down. Was this young man in love with him? He remembered that he was the physical type that his brother favored in his younger years, dark and mysterious, but then again who knew what his brother’s type was these days?  
“Do you know where David Russell is?” the guard asked.  
Hamish this time fixed with Rhys with as tight a stare as he did to him. He sighed knowing he was taking a big chance. If they find my brother they will kill him, you know that, Hamish thought. “I do not know who David Russell is, so I don’t know where he is,” Hamish said out loud. Rhys looked to the mirror and this time nodded without hesitation.  
“That will be all for now,” the voice replied. A loud buzzer resounded through the room as Rhys departed, leaving Hamish alone. 

Doc Dougal Brown reached into the welcome mat for Hamish’s key. He entered the house to see a panting excited Wee Jock come to the door. The little Westie jumped up and down in anticipation, but stopped as soon as Doc entered. The doctor’s heart broke for the little lad. He knew that Jock was hoping that it would be Hamish at the door, but was disappointed that it wasn’t. Doc petted his best friend’s Westie in comfort. “I know Laddie,” he said. “He’ll come back, I swear to it.” He then reached into the storage closet for Wee Jock’s dog food and poured it into a bowl. He then sat down on the settee and waited for Alec and Murron Macbeth to return home from school which would be in about an hour or so.  
Since Hamish had been missing, the Lochdubh residents had an ongoing schedule that one person would be at Hamish’s place looking after Alec and Murron, preparing their meals, feeding Wee Jock, making sure that they had everything they needed, sometimes even spending the night if they needed it. Last night, Esme mentioned that Murron had been up most of the night with nightmares. So far the adults told the Macbeth children that Hamish was on a case, but they knew that Alec didn’t buy it and they wondered if Murron did. Last night certainly could have been possible proof that she did not.  
Not intelligent my eye, Doc thought, that wee lass knows more than most people do. She knows we are lying to her as well as Alec does.

Doc wished more than anything he could make their brother appear before him, but so far he had been listed a missing person that was all. There were no reports of any men his age and description injured or in hospitals in the area. Even though they found his Land Rover abandoned on a road, there was no sign of a struggle or mechanical failure. It was as though Hamish had exited the vehicle and vanished into thin air. Something had to have happened to him, that could be the only possible logical solution. Hamish Macbeth was not the type of person to just irresponsibily run out on someone without any word and he hoped the other alternative wasn’t possible either. He didn’t want to think that his friend could possibly be dead. He just couldn’t be. He gulped remembering several days ago Hamish and many of the others got into that conversation about Hamish’s missing brother, Ian. He hoped that Hamish didn’t go the way of his twin and disappeared never to be seen again.  
Doc petted Wee Jock almost in comfort of his own worried thoughts rather than for the dog’s. He had read somewhere that simple gestures could comfort a person’s nerves like petting an animal. It seemed to work so far. He reached into his coat pocket for his pipe and tobacco. He would wait to light the other stuff later after Alec and Murron were in bed. He didn’t want to hear Hamish hit the roof if Alec had ended up taking up any unnecessary habits that his elders would have shown him. He gathered the crushed leaves inside the pipe and lit it with a match. He sighed with relief for that little bit of reassurance that he could give himself. 

He relaxed on the settee feeling Wee Jock sidle up to his lap. Doc continued to light his pipe and rub the Westie’s back. He felt relaxed enough that his eyes drooped. The footsteps outside the door made him sit up in surprise. Doc absently looked at his watch. It would still be sometime before the children came home from school. Maybe it was one of the other locals, Anderson maybe stopping by. Still it never hurt to be prepared, especially whoever the intruder was first knocked, but then turned the doorknob. He heard a soft voice from outside, but Doc couldn’t make out what they were saying. The normally mellow doctor rose from the settee ready to defend his friend’s home from whoever was behind the door. He approached the door as the person entered. Doc was ready to stare down the intruder until both she and he let out a scream in surprise.  
The woman who entered held a baby in her arms and had another small boy at her side. The baby started crying as she rocked him before she addressed the man by her side. “Doctor Brown, what are you doing here?”  
Doc started in surprise at the arrival of Hamish’s younger sister, Fionulla “Fee” Macbeth-Campbell. “I could say the same about you, Mrs. Campbell, I thought Hamish told us that you were in Afghanistan somewhere with your husband.”  
“Well actually the boys and I are staying at the Lochdubh Hotel for the time being,” Doc nodded understanding. “Oh is Joe on leave?” He said referring to her husband.  
“Umm not quite,” Fee replied. Fee began somewhat reluctantly. “Where are Hamish, Alec, and Murron?”  
Doc hesitated. “Well Alec and Murron are still at school. They should be coming back shortly. Hamish, is well-“ He thought for a moment. “-He’s sort of on patrol.”  
Fee was about to say more when she was thankfully interrupted by her older son tugging at her skirt.  
“Mam, who’s that?” the small boy by Fee’s side asked, out of curiosity, shyness, and possibly tiredness.  
“That’s one of your Uncle Hamish’s friends,” Fee answered as she managed to get the baby soothed and relaxed.  
Doc smiled. “You remember me don’t you Joey? Doc Brown, I used to take you and your Uncle Alec and Auntie Murron fishing?”  
Joe thought for a bit, but then nodded. “Does everyone here know Uncle Hamish?” he asked with a typical small child’s honesty.  
“It would appear so, laddie,” Doc laughed. Fee grinned as he smiled. “Well you are certainly getting bigger. Soon you’ll be as tall as your uncle.”  
“It won’t take very long,” Fee quipped noting her tall height as compared to her older brother’s.  
Doc glanced at the little one in his mother’s arms. “And this is Angus. He’s what now  
nearly two months old. He’s getting to be a little armful.” He looked at the yawning baby leaning on his mother’s chest. Fee kissed his forehead.  
“Where are my manners? Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea or anything?” Doc invited Fee on the seat next to him. She relaxed with her children clinging to her.  
“Maybe if Hamish has any-“ Fee began.  
“-Chamomile with cream no sugar,” Doc interrupted.  
“That’s right,” Fee smiled surprised that her brother’s friend would remember her favorite tea. “I’d like that.”  
Doc glanced at the cupboards and silently cursed. His chance for chivalry was going to burn up in smoke in a minute. “He doesn’t have any, but if you sit tight I’ll go see if Rory Campbell has some at his shop.”  
“Oh I don’t want to trouble you-“ Fee began.  
“-I insist,” Doc said. He was out the door before Fee could object again. After a few minutes, Doc returned with a cup of tea for Fee as well as a small bag of sweeties for Joe and a pacifier for Angus. Fee willingly accepted the tea and other items. “Thank you, Doctor Brown, I appreciate it.”  
“Please call me Dougal,” Doc said. “Your brother is my closest friend so that makes you one of my closest friends.” 

Joe appeared very tired so he leaned on the armrest nodding off, the bag of candy still on his lap. Fee sipped her tea thoughtfully laying it on the nearby table as Joe leaned between her and the armrest. Angus lay on his mother’s lap as she rocked him back and forth and smoothed her older son’s hair. For Doc, it was a pleasant sight to see this beautiful woman whom he had long held unrequited feelings for and her two children.  
He smoked his pipe thoughtfully watching the three half imagining that Fee was his wife and these were his children. He reminded himself of the many reasons that this would never go beyond mere fantasy and wishful thinking: among them Fee was his best friend’s sister, that she had never talked to him or referred to him as anything more than a friend or casual acquaintance, and above all that she was a married woman with two children and a religious married woman with two children at that. Doc would never be able to convince her to break her marital vows and he wouldn’t want her to do anything that would make her uncomfortable, regretful, or frightened. He did as he always did, buried his stronger feelings for Hamish’s sister under a thin veil of friendship that anticipated nothing more. For a brief moment, Doc Dougal Brown resented Joe Campbell and hoped that he thanked his stars every day for being fortunate enough to have this family by his side.  
“So will we be seeing Joe’s presence at the hotel any time soon or are you and the lads going to be with him,” Doc asked hoping that the young woman didn’t catch the bitterness in his voice.  
Fee looked closely to make sure Joe Jr. was fast asleep. “Actually neither. I left him.”  
Doc was stunned hoping that maybe his hidden feelings for Fee weren’t finally causing auditory hallucinations. “You left him?” he echoed.  
“From the moment we reunited after his last tour, it was awful,” Fee said bitterly. “He was always angry and short-tempered with the boys. He never seemed to enjoy being a father for the second time. I suppose he resented the fact that he had to be away so much during my pregnancy, and Dad’s death but he wanted as little to do with Angus as possible. You’re a doctor, surely you’re familiar with Post-Trauma.”  
Doc nodded. “Of course,”  
“Its not an easy thing to live with,” Fee answered sadly. “I could have put up with the bad temper and the constant criticizing. I put up with the fact that I caught him in bed more than once with another woman. But he actually hit Joe Jr., beat him with his belt for the slightest infractions. Most of the time he ignored even neglected Angus. I just couldn’t let Joe Jr. or Angus live with him like that. So, I told him that he could go onto Afghanistan and anywhere else without us and to never return. I just couldn’t stay with him despite that the Bible telling me to or how much it says that I am to obey my husband in all things.” Her eyes filled. “I don’t know if God will forgive me for leaving Joe, but I could never forgive myself if we stayed.”  
Doc leaned towards Fee and put his hand on her shoulders and comforted her knowing how much courage it took to leave her husband despite her religious beliefs and to start over. “I think under the circumstances God would be very understanding,” he reassured her.  
“I don’t even know what we are to do next,” Fee sighed crying. “We have very little money. We sold the house in Rogart after Mum died. I don’t even have anyway of earning money, no education after compulsory, no training, nothing. We moved to the Lochdubh Hotel last night and the Meldrums have been very kind, but the boys and I can’t stay there forever not without any way of paying for it.”  
“Now, now something will turn up,” Doc held the young woman. “You three got this far didn’t you? I’ll help you with whatever you need. No one in Lochdubh would turn their backs on anyone especially not Hamish Macbeth’s sister. You know if Hamish were here, he would definitely put you up. In fact if you like, you can stay with me at my place no charge until he returns.”  
In Doc’s arms she felt comforted until he reached the last part and she pulled away from him. “How long is this patrol that he’s on supposed to be if we’ll have to change our address until he returns?” She then looked quizzically at the doctor. “Dougal, you never did tell me what are you doing here in Hamish’s house?”  
Doc winced realizing that he inadvertantly blabbed the truth about her brother. Might as well tell her the truth. “Well its my turn to look after Alec and Murrie. Me and the rest of the gang alternate taking care of them while Hamish is gone.”  
Fee nodded. “Well that’s very kind of you,” she said. It took her a minute to understand the full meaning of his words. “What do you mean, Hamish is gone?”  
Doc quickly explained Hamish’s absence and how they have been looking for him. “Why did you lie to me then just now about him being on patrol?” Fee asked.  
“I suppose I didn’t want to worry you,” Doc began feebly.  
“And no one has any idea where he is?” Fee asked her voice sounding anxious.  
“No nothing,” Doc said. “Its like he vanished.” 

“Have you told any of my family,” Fee suggested. “You might have thought that I would be in Afghanistan and would not be available, but any of my other brothers or sister?”  
Doc shook his head. “Not yet, Jim Anderson wanted to wait on that until he knew for sure that-there would be something to report.” He finished lamely.  
“I mean its entirely possible that Malcolm, Robyn, or Murdo might be able to help,” Fee said. “Murdo especially. He works on TIA, he might be able to track him.” She glanced over at Hamish’s computer. “How good is your Internet access? Can you get Skype?”  
Doc winced. “Did you forget that this village is among the 10% in the world with limited Internet access? Besides that, I don’t even know how much Hamish has on his computer. You know how he is with that sort of thing.  
Fee nodded ruefully and gently removed herself from her children’s grasps. She adjusted Joe Jr. on the settee and perched Angus on her hip. “Tell me about it. It took several months of trying before Murdo could even convince him to install it. No matter I think I can manage.”  
Doc was surprised and impressed as she approached the computer and fiddled with it like she had been familiar with it. “You know this stuff?”  
She nodded. “Growing up, I was closest to Murdo. I learned quite a few things from him. Though I’m definitely not on his caliber.” She opened the programs to see the Skype icon. She pressed on and searched for certain names remembering that Murdo basically had to talk his older brother through into downloading the program and putting the names on it to no avail since he was never on Skype. She continued to type feeling a bit uncomfortable as Angus wiggled on her lap.  
“Here I’ll take him if you like,” Doc suggested as he picked up the infant and balanced him on his lap. Fee nodded as she pressed the contact information for Robyn, Malcolm, and Murdo.  
She waited patiently as she could see the faces of her younger siblings, Malcolm and Robyn Macbeth appear. She could see Murdo’s icon remain blank. That was strange, she thought. Out of all the siblings, Murdo practically lived in cyberspace. If anyone would be on, it would be him.  
She didn’t have time to wonder as she heard the loud blustering voice of Malcolm speak. “Hamish so you finally left the Dark Ages have ya? I told Robey that eventually you would come around. Next you’ll be using incandescent lighting and horseless carriages!” He then looked closely at the picture on his screen. “Wait a minute, Fee? What are you doing using Hamish’s computer?”  
“What are you doing in Britain at all?” Robey asked confused. “I thought you were in Afghanistan.”  
“Not anymore,” Fee answered. “I’m afraid its been called off.”  
“His tour of duty,” Robey said dryly. “I thought those soldiers never left their posts upon pain of death.” Her sarcasm as well as her anti-military position could clearly be heard in her voice.  
“No,” Fee simply. “Our marriage.”  
Malcolm and Robey both looked stunned. They talked at once. “Fee, I’m sorry. I had no idea-“ “Are you okay, sis-?”  
“No, I’m fine,” Fee said. “I don’t want to talk about that now. Do either of you know where Hamish is?”  
The twins looked confused and shook their heads as she explained the situation. “He wouldn’t just run off like that without reason,” Robey said determined. “He’s not the up and leaving type.”  
“We know that, Robey,” Malcolm said. “I’m sure there’s some explanation for it.”  
“I know,” Fee said. “I just wish I knew what it was. I mean I had been talking to and emailing Hamish but I hadn’t actually seen him since Mum’s funeral and shortly after Angus was born.”  
“Yeah about that for me too,” Robey said. Malcolm said nothing so Robey continued. “Well we know one thing about our brother. He certainly wouldn’t be in Glasgow or here in London if he couldn’t help it.” Fee nodded in agreement. Even though she and her younger sister didn’t always get along and were polar opposites in political views and personality, it felt good for Fee to talk to her again.  
“I don’t know about that,” Malcolm said sounding far off and more thoughtful than his usual gregarious personality.  
“What do you mean, Mal?” Robey asked her brother. 

“Well its something I just remembered,” Malcolm replied. “You remember around the time that Dad died, a friend of mine died as well?”  
The sisters nodded. “I don’t remember his name but didn’t he die in a landmine explosion?” Robyn prompted.  
“Michael Ezzard,” Malcolm answered. “We worked together near the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. Well anyway we had a funeral for him in London. After the funeral,  
we had a closed reception at a nearby pub. Well I was talking to some of Michael’s friends, you know sharing stories, a few laughs and what have you when I’m certain that I saw Hamish there!”  
“Are you serious?” Fee asked.  
“Serious as I can be,” Malcolm continued. “I mean he was dressed all in black, well after all it was a funeral, but he looked older like he hadn’t slept in some time, but it was him for sure and certain. He walked past me as if he didn’t know me.”  
“Did you talk to him?” Fee asked.  
“I should have but I didn’t,” Malcolm said. “There was just something I don’t know, unsettling about him being there in the first place. It’s not like he knew Michael and that he didn’t have a life of his own, if anything he’d have been in Lochdubh. Just the way he looked there was kind of jarring, like I better not say anything. So I didn’t. I didn’t think anything of it until now.”  
The sisters exchanged glances. This was the first time that Malcolm was even slightly open about his time working in Doctors Without Borders in Afghanistan or about his friends that he made there. He apparently had fallen in love with a woman named Nadir Al-Fulani and while he didn’t want to say what had happened to her, but he indicated that it did not end well nor did he speak much about his friend Michael or his wife, Yasim Anwar just that Yasim was in London for a time after Michael died. This was a chapter in Malcom Macbeth’s life that he just didn’t want to open and part of what threw him into working in an emergency room in Glasgow instead of working in developing countries like he originally planned. So for him to volunteer any information about that was very unusual for his sisters.  
Robyn shook her head. “No, no, it couldn’t have been Hamish. You were just mistaken then. Maybe it was someone who looked like him or something. If he were ever in London, you know he would have contacted me or Murdo to put him up or something.”  
“Besides what has that to do with Hamish missing now?” Fee asked.  
Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know except if this wasn’t the first time that Hamish has been somewhere else and not where he should be. Maybe he has some sort of double life that we don’t know about.”  
The sisters laughed incredulously. “And everyone thinks I’m the conspiracy theorist,” Robey quipped.  
Fee reasoned. “Besides wouldn’t someone in Lochdubh have noticed if Hamish made periodic jaunts into this double life?” She looked over at Doc who had bounced Angus on his knee as he nodded in confirmation.  
“I don’t know but this is getting weird,” Robey observed.  
“Murdo might be able to trace his whereabouts on TIA,” Fee suggested. “I’m going to try to contact him through here.”  
Robyn scoffed. “Good luck with that. We live in the same city and I don’t think he and I have shared more than a few words since he moved down here. Those few times, I gather that he doesn’t want much to do with me. Probably thinks its beneath his dignity to be seen with a “Disturber of the Peace.’ “  
“Its probably not that,” the ever optimistic Malcolm Macbeth said. “You know how he gets caught up in these projects at the expense of all others. He’s probably so buried in work that he forgets that the rest of the world exists.”  
“Well whatever,” Robey said. “You believe what you believe and I’ll do the same.”  
“Well I figure that I should try,” Fee said. “It couldn’t hurt him anyway.”  
“You tell him that if he doesn’t help us, I’ll hurt him anyway,” Robey threatened. “And he knows that I can do it too.” Malcolm and Fee exchanged a quick laugh remembering that Robey could take down her older brothers even at a fairly young age.  
“I’m sure that he’d love to explain that to his superiors,” Malcolm scoffed. Then he mimicked his older brother’s more educated mincing tone. “ ‘I’m sorry sir, I know that I am not supposed to locate my brother but my kid sister threatened to break my knee caps.’” Despite their concern for their brother, the siblings laughed good naturedly. “Then again if they knew you, they’d think nothing of it. They’d probably understand.”  
“Even sympathize,” Fee teased back.  
From the settee Doc listened in on the conversation between the Macbeth siblings shaking his head in nostalgia how much they acted like Hamish in their desire to pursue the truth and help others to the end but also their uncanny ability to find the good in any situation, even make light of it if they had to. He suspected it was a Macbeth family trait. He noticed that Fee continued to push Murdo’s contact information but once again, it came unanswered. “Dammit, if anyone would be available I would think that it’d be him.”  
“He’s probably avoiding us,” Robey offered jaded.  
“I’m trying again,” Fee said to no avail. 

Just then Doc heard a scuffle coming from outside. It was a large bang like someone was throwing something and he heard loud cursing. Doc glanced at the window listening for the noise. “My God, it’s coming from the police station,” he said. He then handed Angus back to his mother and picked up his medical bag. “I’ll be right back.”  
Doc entered the police station directly in front of Hamish’s home to see Sgt. Jim Anderson inside. He swallowed liquor from the bottle in front of him and pushed some files to the wall. “That son of a bitch,” Anderson yelled. “How could he do this? How could he fucking do this?”  
Doc approached the police officer and got a hold of him by the shoulders attempting to verbally calm the man down before he got a sedative. “Jim, Jim stop this! You’ll hurt yourself. Now breathe, calm down.” He spoke evenly and measured as the seargent’s tension was beginning to ease. “Now I understand your upset about something but why don’t we talk about this?”  
“Is this your shrink routine?” Anderson asked bitterly.  
“Its my concerned friend routine,” Doc said. “Now what is the matter?” He got a glass of water from the sink and handed it to Anderson. “The last thing you need right now is more of that.” He nodded at the liquor and put it far from his reach before Anderson could reach for it.  
Anderson gulped some of the water down. “I got the results for Inverness on the body that was pulled from the loch. Bruce couldn’t wait to share it with me.” He nodded in a “doesn’t-it-figure” expression. “It’s Martin Brandell.”  
Doc started. “You mean the man that-?”  
“More than likely killed Hamish’s father,” Jim said. “The very same. The DNA match was undisputed. I mean the body was no longer there, apparently some authorities came and got rid of it but they already did a testing on it previously.”  
A thought entered Doc’s mind that he wanted to dismiss because it may be disloyal. “Do you think that Hamish realized it?”  
Anderson looked at the doctor squarely in the face. “Think about it, Doc, Hamish had to have known already! Why do you think that he did a jumper?”  
Doc shook his head determined. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying? That Hamish killed him and left because the body was recovered? No, Hamish would never do anything like that!”  
“The evidence is unmistakeable wouldn’t you say?” Anderson snapped. “A man’s father gets murdered and the one who committed the deed is released with charges dropped. Fast forward nearly four months later and one of the men is pulled from the loch and the other turns up missing.”  
“Surely that is circumstantial evidence at best,” Doc objected. “We don’t know for sure that Hamish ran off nor do we know whether he even knew who the body was when he left. I just can’t believe it. I’ve known Hamish a lot longer than you have and I know he would never kill someone in cold blood or seek vengeance!”  
“Wouldn’t he?” Anderson reminded him. “Didn’t you tell me yourself that his first dog was killed in a hit-and-run and he went after the men who did it?”  
“But he did not kill them,” Doc said. “That’s how I know that he wouldn’t have done this to Martin Brandell.”  
“Because you and the other men were there to stop him,” Anderson added. “What if no one was?”  
Doc didn’t have a ready answer for him but he wanted to defend his friend. “You’re wrong Jim. I just know you are.” 

“I hope I am,” Anderson agreed. “But wait there’s more-“ He sounded sarcastically like a TV commercial pitchman. “-Apparently, before the body was taken away, Bruce said that they found no bullets inside him.” Upon Doc’s confused look Anderson translated. “They had to have been removed from his body. Hamish was the one who examined the body before it had been transported to Inverness! Tell me what you make of that?”  
Doc didn’t know what to say except a defense of his friend’s character. “I don’t believe you.”  
“I know,” Anderson said as he rose and searched the police station. “I feel the same way about Hamish that you do but I am trying to find the bullet that was used to kill Brandell. If I find it, well for Hamish’s sake, I just hope that I don’t.” He continued to search inside muttering out loud to the doctor. “I’ve already had to report him for destroying the TIA scanner which by the way-“ He held out his hand and Doc gave the seargent his ID card. Anderson let it through the system almost trying to find routine in a world that was not beginning to make sense. “-Thank you. Anyway and he more than likely will be under suspension for it if he ever returns. I would hate to add to it.” He continued to search the police station unsure of where Hamish would place evidence that would implicate himself. He searched through drawers, pockets, file cabinets anything to find it. He was angry if Hamish did this and angry that the man wasn’t here to defend himself. Like Doc, he wanted to believe that his friend was innocent but he was a police officer and he couldn’t ignore the evidence in front of him. He sighed partly with annoyance and partly with relief that maybe Hamish was innocent after all.  
“Edgar Allen Poe wrote that the best place to hide something is in plain sight,” Doc mused.  
Anderson smiled. “Of course, they can’t gather evidence if its already been collected!”  
Anderson checked the evidence files for any unusual bullet that he had never seen before. No they were all tagged and identified, another dead end. Then something else occurred to Anderson. A bullet could hide itself among other bullets. The seargent reached into the drawer and pulled out the case for the official revolver. He reached for the key that was inside the desk drawer. “I could be getting in big trouble for opening this.” He told the doctor. “Technically the only one allowed to carry this firearm is Hamish himself.” He opened the case and saw the revolver lying undisturbed. He then felt inside the small compartment for the bullets. Most were smaller and clearly unused. He ran his fingers inside and saw what he was looking for but was hoping that he wouldn’t see, a bullet that had been charred and used, a bullet that was clearly larger and of a different make than the other bullets. Anderson held took out a pair of tongs and held it with shaking hands. “Still think he’s an innocent man,” Anderson said his voice cold. 

Doc put his hands to his face concerned for his friend. “So what happens now?” he asked.  
“I do what I have to do,” Anderson answered.  
“Do you really need to?” Doc asked his voice hoarse. Anderson looked at the doctor like he had grown two heads. “The man murdered Hamish’s father and walked. I would have done the same. Maybe justice was done after all.”  
“I know,” Anderson agreed. “Most people would think so. I think it was deplorable that the man got released and I feel for Hamish, I really do. But I can’t just let Hamish get away with this. He certainly covered evidence and may have murdered the man and fled. I’m a police officer and there are certain things that need to be done.”  
“And Hamish?” Doc asked.  
“If he was any type of police officer at all, he would agree with me,” Anderson replied. “Now I have to make out a warrant for Hamish’s arrest for withholding evidence and quite possibly absconding justice and murder.”  
Doc sighed not wanting to agree, but understanding that it was Anderson’s job. He suddenly felt the proverbial chill in the back of his head as though someone were staring at him. Doc turned around and motioned to Anderson. The two men looked to the doorway of the police station to see Alec and Murron in their school uniforms looking at the two men. Murron’s face as usual was blank of any emotion, but her smile drooped and she looked downward. Alec looked at the two, particularly Anderson with overt hostility. He spoke for them, his voice hoarse and challenging. “We wanted to see if you heard anything about when Hamish was coming back from his ‘case.’ “ Both adults could hear the air quotes in the teen’s voice.  
“Did Hamish do something bad?” Murron asked her older brother.  
“They think so,” Alec said accusing the men in front of him.  
“It appears that way,” Anderson answered as Doc reached up to shepherd the two small children to Hamish’s house.


End file.
